Kane's Caper
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: When Roarke grants the fantasy of a man who wants to commit the perfect crime, it backfires on all involved. Follows 'Cori's Turn'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _This is the result of a wonderful idea I got from jtbwriter a couple of months ago—this story is dedicated to her, with many thanks. I hope I did it justice! Also, thanks to PDXWiz, Harry2, BishopT and Kyryn for their ongoing support and encouragement. Enjoy!_

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§ § § -- November 8, 2003

The alarm sounded at five o'clock and Christian twitched in the bed, groaning. "Time to get up already?" he muttered blearily. "Weren't we supposed to set back the clocks this weekend or something?" There was no response; he opened his eyes and realized Leslie's side of the bed was empty. Surprised, he lifted his head and called, "Leslie?"

He heard the toilet flush in the bathroom and let his head drop back onto the pillow with a slight sense of relief. The door opened and she emerged with a loud sigh, then paused there in the doorway. "Are you planning to shut that off, my love?" she teased.

"Oh," Christian said sleepily, shaking his head a couple of times and slapping the alarm off. "Feeling all right?"

"I am now," Leslie said, slipping under the covers and curling up on her side, facing him. "I just threw up a few minutes ago though."

Again he opened his eyes and squinted at her. "You'll pardon me, then, if I don't kiss you good morning," he said wryly, and she snorted. "Seriously, my darling, are you sure you're all right? It sounds as if you caught that stomach bug that's been going around lately. Mateo managed to pass it to everyone else in the office before I got it last week, so it stands to reason that it was your turn."

"Probably," Leslie said, making a face. "Just what I need, and right before a weekend starts too. But I'm fine now…I don't see the point in staying home."

Christian said with a drowsy smile, "Ah, you just don't want to miss out on the fantasies. Even I don't love my job the way you do yours. I have no doubt Mr. Roarke would be very unappreciative of your passing that virus along to him."

"I already worked the past three days," Leslie pointed out. "If he were ever going to get it from me, he would have by now. Like I said, there's no point in my staying home. I'm fine now, my love, really. Do you want the shower first?"

Christian made a noise that could have meant anything, still squinting at her. "If you don't think it's the bug, then what?"

"Well, my stomach was cramping before I threw up," Leslie muttered. "Sounds like my stupid period's about to put in an appearance. I've never been that regular, and I can't predict its comings and goings on my own."

"I know," Christian said, "and you didn't want to take the Pill to regulate it, so don't start complaining about it now. If you feel all right now, then very well…but you'd better tell Mr. Roarke if you start to feel queasy again. When I drop you off at the main house, I'll tell him what happened so he doesn't wonder what's wrong with you all of a sudden, should it come back. And, well, since you offered, I guess I _will_ take the shower first." She rolled her eyes, and he grinned at her, swinging his feet out of bed.

Three hours later they met Roarke on the porch at the main house, and true to his word, Christian explained what had happened. Roarke looked at Leslie in surprise. "Are you certain you feel up to working, Leslie?" he asked. "How do you feel right now?"

"I'm fine," Leslie insisted, noting Roarke's concerned look and Christian's skeptical expression. "Believe me, Father, if it happens again, you'll be the first to know."

"And what of me?" Christian demanded.

"You'll be the second to know," she promised him, and laughed when he rolled his eyes at her. With a wicked little twinkle she pulled him down and deliberately kissed him, and he submitted with a little grunt. "It'll be fine, my love, really. If it does get bad, we'll let you know right away. So please, try not to worry."

"That's a tall order," Christian said with a little smile. "I worry about you more than you'd suspect. All right, my darling, but for heaven's sake watch yourself." He kissed her, then turned to Roarke. "I should be in the office all day, so if something happens there'll be no trouble reaching me."

Roarke smiled. "We'll keep that in mind, Christian. Have a good morning." They watched Christian retreat to the car and drive away, just before their own vehicle pulled up to the walk. "Has he much reason to worry, Leslie?"

Leslie shrugged and said, "I don't know. It doesn't really seem like a big deal. Poor Christian…making a fuss over nothing. Let's get to the plane dock before it decides to turn into something after all." Roarke chuckled, and they went to the car together.

Half an hour later, having introduced their first guests—two brothers and two sisters from Japan who were hoping to trace their ancestry back to a particular samurai warrior—Roarke frowned slightly when an auburn-haired man who appeared to be somewhere in his early 40s stepped out of the plane and ran the gamut of leis and drinks. "That is Mr. Kane Mattson, from American Fork, Utah. His fantasy gave me a few qualms before I decided that perhaps it was best to grant it, for his own safety."

"Oh? And what kind of fantasy would it be?" Leslie asked.

Roarke let out a soft huff of wry amusement and slowly shook his head. "All his life he has been what he called a 'goody-two-shoes': the obedient son, an excellent student, popular in school, involved in athletics, clean-living and hard-working. But it seems he has become bored and restless, and his fantasy is to live a little dangerously. Specifically, he wishes to execute the perfect crime."

"Is that so?" Leslie murmured, folding her arms over her chest and regarding their guest curiously. "It doesn't look to me as if he could get away with so much as a shoplift."

"Indeed," said Roarke, "and due to that very characteristic, I have made arrangements with two establishments in town to allow him to realize his fantasy."

"Well, that doesn't seem like a challenge," Leslie said. "Does he know you did that?"

"No," her father said, looking curiously at her. "Precisely how much of a challenge do you think he is capable of facing?"

"Hardly any, if you want the truth," she replied.

Roarke chuckled. "Exactly. There are obvious advantages to setting the stage for him as well: he will know what to expect, and no one will be hurt." Then he frowned and added, "Of course, there are always random factors to consider, but I can control the situation only to a certain extent. If any other obstacles arise in the course of his attempt, he will simply have to deal with them. Such are the vagaries of a fantasy like this." So saying, he accepted his drink, raised the glass and called, "My dear guests! I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!" He took a sip, bowing slightly at their Japanese guests and then nodding at Kane Mattson before noticing that Leslie was staring at his glass with a strangely revolted expression on her face. She caught his gaze, turned pink and looked away.

‡ ‡ ‡

Kane Mattson looked like a former football player, broad of shoulder and genial of disposition. Leslie guessed he was a couple of inches or so shorter than Christian, but with more bulk than her husband. He shook hands with Roarke and glanced around the study. "Nice place you got here, Mr. Roarke. This your assistant?"

"Yes, my daughter, Leslie Enstad," Roarke replied.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Enstad." Kane Mattson shook her hand. "Say…you're the one who married the prince."

Leslie grinned a little sheepishly. "Yep, that's me. So I hear from Father that you're looking to pull off a crime of some sort."

Kane nodded and took one of the chairs at Roarke's gesture; Leslie settled into the other with enough care that Roarke took note, though he refrained from commenting on it for the moment. "Mr. Mattson, please forgive me, but I am afraid I find it difficult to understand precisely why you wish me to grant this fantasy. Why would you want to commit a crime of any kind?"

Kane shrugged self-deprecatingly and said, "Well, I guess it's kind of been a secret fantasy of mine for years. I have two younger brothers, you see. I was the good guy, the one who was supposed to set the example for Trent and Gage. Trent had a few problems, but he did okay. Gage, on the other hand, being the youngest, did everything I didn't. He was a textbook case of What Not to Do. Gage pretty much ran wild, and no matter what my parents tried to do, he defied them at every turn. He got away with quite a bit too, believe it or not, although he did get caught on plenty of occasions. Anyway, I had this secret envy of the kid. He had a lot more guts than I did. I figured, if I was ever going to do something really bad, I might as well come here and do it, just for a weekend. I mean, heck, it's just a fantasy. It'll be all over come Monday morning and it'll be like nothing ever happened."

"I see," Roarke mused, considering this.

"I'd really appreciate this, Mr. Roarke," Kane said earnestly.

Roarke looked up. "Very well, Mr. Mattson. You will have two chances to pull off your perfect crime. The bank and the jeweler in town are probably the most challenging places to try to pull off a heist, so those will be the sites of your attempts."

"Attempt? But I want to _succeed_ at it," Kane said.

Roarke smiled. "That's up to you, Mr. Mattson," he told the man. "Come now, surely you don't wish it to be too easy for you? Where would be the fun in that?"

Kane laughed and admitted, "You've got a point, Mr. Roarke. Okay then…when do I start? Do I have to make any special preparations?"

"Leslie will take you to your bungalow, where you will find the equipment necessary to allow you to carry out your…uh, schemes," Roarke said. "You have today and tomorrow in which to make your attempts, so take your time and don't be in a great hurry. And, of course, be careful."

"Absolutely," Kane said and grinned. "Thanks, Mr. Roarke."

"I'll be right with you," Leslie said, and he nodded, trotting out the door. She waited till he was gone, then turned to Roarke. "Father, you almost sound as if you approve."

Roarke sighed gently and said, "Don't mistake my intentions, Leslie. The fact of the matter is that Mr. Mattson simply doesn't have the backbone to carry out a crime; but if he isn't given the opportunity here, under some measure of supervision, he might very well make the attempt in real life and find himself suffering consequences he is not at all prepared to face. It's best that he does this here, so that he can get it out of his system."

Leslie nodded. "I see," she said. "Well, all right. Once I drop him off, I'll go and pick up Katsumi so she can do that translating you wanted."

"Good, thank you," Roarke said, then sat up. "Oh yes, one moment. Are you certain you're feeling all right? You seemed to have an unfavorable reaction to my champagne at the plane dock, and a moment ago you took a little extra care when sitting down."

"Well," Leslie admitted reluctantly, "my stomach's acting weird again. But so far it's all right. I mean, it's a little unsettled, but I don't have any urge to throw up. Besides, there's nothing left in it anyway. I emptied it at home, and then I just couldn't stand the idea of eating breakfast."

Roarke frowned. "What about now?"

"As long as you don't try to feed me, I'll be fine," Leslie said and grinned. "Mariki's going to throw the loudest fit we've ever heard, I'm sure. Please, Father, don't worry." She made her escape before he could say anything further, but she noticed him shaking his head after her and sighed. Truth be told, she had a feeling her stomach was gradually building up to another attempt at forcible ejection, and was hoping to get Kane Mattson dropped off at his bungalow at the very least before having to deal with it in earnest.

Kane obviously noticed her slowly increasing distress. "You okay?" he asked.

"Oh, I'll live," Leslie said and grinned gamely. "My husband had a stomach virus earlier in the week, and it looks like it's my turn. I'm going to be in the main house for the better part of the day anyway, so I should be all right. Let's get you to your bungalow."

When they arrived, she preceded him inside and indicated the main room, where Kane's luggage had been left by the natives from the plane dock. On the sofa rested a large cardboard box. "Everything you need for your fantasy is in that box, Kane. The gun's loaded with blanks, so you can make noise if you want, but you won't actually hurt anyone."

"I've got a gun?" Kane blurted, eyes widening.

"Most crooks do," Leslie said, and he blinked at her. She laughed and said, "Sorry about that, but you have to admit it was a natural slip. After all, you want to be a crook for the weekend."

"Yeah, I do, don't I," Kane realized and half-grinned. "Didn't think of it like that. So what else have I got?"

"Poke through the box and find out," Leslie invited. "If you have any questions, just call the main house—Father's going to be there for awhile."

"Good enough. Thanks tons, both you and Mr. Roarke," Kane said, and Leslie smiled and left. Once she had closed the door, he moved to the sofa and began to examine the contents of the box. He found the gun Leslie had mentioned, a plain white T-shirt, a pair of worn-looking blue jeans, scuffed sneakers, and a rubber mask of the sort used on television, in this case designed to make him look mostly bald with a fringe of white hair. In the bottom of the box lay a matching fake beard and mustache. He laid out the clothing, mask, and beard and mustache on the sofa, then examined the gun for a moment, making certain he kept his fingers well away from the trigger. With his hand wrapped securely around the butt of the gun, he experimentally pointed it at a painting on the far wall and growled, "Stick 'em up. Hand over all your cash. Your money or your life." He snickered to himself at the clichés, then set the gun carefully aside and toted his suitcase off to the bedroom so he could unpack and have a chance to plan out his first shot at a robbery.


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- November 8, 2003

An hour later he'd walked into town, which wasn't too far away from the lane where the bungalows were situated in order to facilitate guests' ease in shopping, mailing postcards or doing other errands, and was strolling slowly around the central business square, perusing the storefronts there. No one took much notice of him; it was late enough in the morning that the square was already fairly crowded with vacationers. He wondered if he really ought to try robbing the bank or the jeweler's; they seemed like such obvious places to stage a holdup. On the other hand, he really didn't have much clue how to go about carrying out his half-baked plan, and he supposed that anyone who ever robbed any establishment would rob a bank sooner or later. He could see nothing here that looked like an American-style convenience store, so the bank seemed the logical next step. Whatever money he got away with, he promised himself, he would give back to Roarke when the weekend was over. Having salved his conscience, he returned his full attention to scanning the shops.

The bank, he soon ascertained, was located in an end unit that shared building space with the post office, a computer-services business, a gift shop and a café. The tropical forest that still covered so much of the island, and that provided a backdrop to the town, the main house and the bungalows, encroached to within six feet of the building's outer wall, and there was a clearly demarcated path leading back into the trees. Kane nodded to himself; it looked like a good getaway route. On the pretext of window-shopping, he strolled over to the covered walkway and peered curiously through the window; there weren't too many people inside. Just to cover himself, he sauntered along, making a point of peering into the post-office window, the computer-business window, the gift-shop window and the café window. Then he reversed tracks and did it again. As he passed the computer place, the dark-haired man sitting at the desk nearest the window happened to look up and meet his gaze; quickly Kane threw up his hand in a casual wave, and the man nodded back, watching him till he passed out of his sight. _Nice going, Mattson,_ Kane thought, disgusted. _Rule number one: never let anyone notice you._ Then he remembered that Roarke and Leslie had provided him with a disguise. _Calm down, he won't associate you with an old goat trying to carry off a heist._ Feeling a little better, he shot another glance into the bank's window, then decided enough was enough and retreated to his bungalow.

There, he changed swiftly into the jeans, T-shirt and sneakers before stuffing the gun into his belt and then spending ten minutes in the bathroom getting the rubber mask to sit properly over his head and face. Almost immediately he began to perspire inside it; it was uncomfortably hot, and he hoped he could stand the thing long enough to make a success out of the holdup. Determined, he glued on the fake beard and mustache, then tried to smile at his reflection and discovered that the mask severely restricted facial movement. He gave a resigned shrug. It was only for half an hour, if that. Once he pulled off his robbery he'd be able to take off the disguise and bask in the glow of his success.

Feeling about as prepared as he would ever get, he left the bungalow again, trying to walk the way his grandfather had done in his last few years of life, then deciding it might look strange for an old man to suddenly become a lot more fit after the robbery was complete and assumed his own gait, merely slowing it somewhat to accommodate his temporary "old age". Back in the town square the butterflies hit him smack in the gut, and he began to breathe hard in the mask. He started to feel somewhat like Darth Vader, his inhalations and exhalations echoing in his ears. _Get it over with, Mattson, you big chicken! Come on, it's just a fantasy, remember?_ The reminder did nothing at all to soothe his nerves and he finally decided he might just as well do it and get it over with. Determinedly he shuffled across the square from the Ring Road, stepped up onto the covered walkway and entered the bank. At the moment there were only two customers; one completed his transaction as Kane walked in and brushed past him with barely a nod on his way out. The other, a woman, paid no attention to his entrance.

Kane wandered up to the first open teller window and peered at the young native woman behind it. "May I help you, sir?" she asked politely.

"Yeah," Kane growled, whipped the gun out of his belt and pointed it at her. "Gimme all the cash you have in your drawer, and make it snappy."

The teller reared back, real fear sparking in her eyes, and nodded hurriedly, then pulled open her cash drawer and began scooping out money. "Everybody!" Kane yelled, turning and waving his gun in the air. "Drop to the floor! All your money, now!" He glared at the lone customer, who had frozen in place and was gaping at him with huge eyes. "You too, lady, come on!"

"Isn't someone gonna call the police?" the customer cried, looking frantically around.

"On the floor!" Kane shouted, aiming his gun at her. "Now, or I shoot!" She instantly fell down, and he turned back to the teller. "Where's the money?"

"I'm getting the last of it now," she insisted in a shaking voice.

In the commotion, Kane didn't see the man poking his head out of the door to the vault where the safe-deposit boxes were located; as Kane turned, the guy yanked back out of his sight and pulled out a cell phone, calling the police. The customer on the floor saw this, however, and yelled at Kane, "The cops'll come for you, guaranteed, you old reprobate!" She hurriedly started scrabbling through her purse when he showed her the business end of the gun, and he smirked to himself. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the guy in the vault, with the cell phone at his ear, and instantly realized he was about to be in very deep trouble. With a frantic curse he scooped a few bundles of bills off the teller's counter and made a break for it, tearing out the door and fleeing down the Ring Road as fast as he could run, back toward the bungalow. Not till he'd gotten there did he realize that not only had he forgotten about the getaway path, but the money in his hands was fake.

He whipped off the beard, mustache and mask, and stared at the cash. At a glance it looked real, but on closer examination it was clearly counterfeit. "You gotta be kidding," he muttered, astonished. It was a sure bet that American banks had never heard of this little ploy. Undoubtedly this was something Roarke must have come up with: when threatened with a robbery, give the crooks the fake bills. "Must be nice to have your own country and make up your own rules," Kane said with a sigh, then frowned. He was supposed to have succeeded at this thing. After all, he'd told Roarke—

Still wearing the T-shirt and jeans, he walked briskly back to the main house and confronted Roarke, who was alone in the study. "Mr. Roarke, what's the big idea?" he wanted to know.

"I'm sorry?" asked Roarke blankly, looking up from a ledger.

"I just now tried to rob the bank," Kane informed him. "It was supposed to go off without a hitch. But somebody called the cops on me—I saw him in the vault yapping on a cell phone—and then I found out the teller gave me fake money!" He brandished the counterfeit bills at Roarke. "What kind of nutty idea is that?"

Roarke's dark eyes lit with amusement, but otherwise he kept a poker face. "I am terribly sorry, Mr. Mattson," he said. "However, I did warn you that I was providing you with the opportunities only; their success or failure is entirely up to you. I can only suggest that you plan your next attempt more carefully."

Kane deflated and let out a heavy sigh. "Yeah, I guess so," he muttered grudging agreement. "But I still feel cheated. What'm I gonna do with these?"

"Keep them as souvenirs," Roarke offered whimsically.

Kane stared at him, then at the bills. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, why the heck not." He shrugged, then mumbled thanks and quietly left the house.

Roarke was still chuckling softly to himself when Leslie came back from upstairs, her face a little pale. He looked up as she hit the floor and asked, "Do you feel any better?"

"Yeah, for now," she said. "But it's dry heaves by now, Father, and I've never had that in my life. They really hurt."

His amusement disappeared. "I think you had better go to the doctor," he told her.

"Not now, I'm working," Leslie protested.

"At this rate, very shortly you won't be," Roarke retorted. "I don't want any arguments, Leslie. If you won't go to the doctor, then I'll have Christian take you home."

She paused, a hand on her hip. "Suppose I eat when lunchtime gets here," she said, as if challenging him. "If I do, will you drop the subject?"

Roarke sighed with gentle exasperation. "Leslie Susan, without question, you are the most stubborn young woman I have ever had the privilege of knowing. Do you honestly believe you'll be able to eat anything at lunch—much less keep it down?"

"I can certainly try," she said gamely.

He shook his head and said, "Very well, but if you're sick this afternoon, you're going home—no arguments. I'll get along quite well this weekend; I've done it before."

"Oh, we'll see," Leslie said and smiled. "Thanks, Father."

"Don't thank me yet, young lady," Roarke warned and returned to the ledger. She grinned outright and went out to make some rounds.

‡ ‡ ‡

"That's her…Roarke's daughter," muttered the heavyset native man, peering at Leslie from under hooded lids as she passed their table without noticing them. "I still can't believe you've never seen her before."

"Hell, Bert, I worked at the plantation for two months before the overseer's house burned down, and she never showed up there," retorted his companion, a few years younger and just short of skeletal. They were an odd-looking pair, to say the least; the only reason they had gone unnoticed was that the pool was very crowded, even for a Saturday. "And it's not like we ever had a reason to come up this end of the island."

"Well, we do now," Bert said, watching Leslie weave her way through shifting knots of human beings, evidently headed toward the bar in the corner. "Make sure you get a good look at her, Joey. When we make our move, I don't want you mixing her up with some other broad, y'got me?"

Joey snorted but studied Leslie as much as he could through all the people. "Look," he said, "we've both seen Roarke, he's seen us. What we need is a patsy."

"Don't worry about that," Bert said. "Right now we need to plan this thing. Pay attention, you idiot. Now listen to me…"

Unaware that she was being discussed, Leslie approached the bar and grinned at the native man behind it. "Hi, Carl, how's business?"

"Monstrous," Carl said and chuckled. "This place is a madhouse. Hey, Miss Leslie, are you all right? You look a little under the weather."

"Oh, just a minor stomach bug. Comes and goes," Leslie said dismissively. "Do you need anything while I'm here?"

"Double on everything," Carl told her. "I'm running low and I figure I might last another hour before I go dry back here. After that I won't be too popular."

Leslie laughed. "I'll take care of it for you," she promised. "Thanks." Carl nodded in response and thanked her back, and she wriggled her way through the throngs again and gained a path back toward the main house with some relief. It was nearly time for lunch and she was actually a bit hungry, at least enough to try eating a little something. Christian was joining them, and of course she was looking forward to seeing him as well.

Back in the study she found that Roarke was out at the moment, so she made the call for more supplies for the pool bar, then went out to the veranda and took her usual chair. Mariki came out a few minutes later and asked, "What happened to Mr. Roarke? And is Prince Christian planning to be here?"

"I'm not sure where Father is, but he'll probably be back shortly. And yes, Christian has all intentions of coming over. What's for lunch?"

"Beef Stroganoff," Mariki said, and Leslie swallowed thickly.

"Could you just make mine a little soup?" she asked. "Tomato, maybe, with some crackers? And some ginger ale too."

Mariki planted her hands on her hips. "Miss Leslie—" she began to scold.

"Before you start in on me again," Leslie said a little wearily, "you should know that I've been sick off and on today, and quite frankly, you're lucky I'm eating anything at all. You'd better quit while you're ahead, Mariki."

"I suppose I should," the cook muttered and sighed. "All right, soup and crackers it is. I still say you're going to starve yourself."

"I've never starved myself in my entire life," Leslie shot back, "and I'm not going to start now. Hurry up before I change my order to even less."

Mariki gave her a dirty look but retreated, and she sighed and relaxed in her chair, only then hearing the chuckles. She looked around and saw Christian a few feet down the veranda; it looked as if he'd been watching them. "Well," he remarked in amusement, resuming his approach, "it seems you've won another round, my Rose." He paused beside her chair and leaned down to kiss her. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," she said and smiled at him. "How about you?"

Christian grinned and took his chair. "Hungry," he said. "It's been a busy morning; the square was quite crowded today. There was a little excitement this morning; one of my customers informed us with great relish that someone had attempted to rob the bank, but ran away without really getting anything."

"Oh?" said Leslie and let out a couple of huffs of amusement. "Too bad."

Before Christian could question this, Roarke returned and greeted them both. "Are you all right, Leslie?" he asked.

She groaned and rolled her eyes. "I'm _fine_, Father," she insisted.

Christian laughed and said, "I suppose we'd better stop asking. Mariki took her order for soup and crackers, so apparently she's hungry after all."

"Enough to hopefully get the two of you off my back," Leslie said, but she smiled. "I love both of you for worrying, but do me a favor and try not to smother me with it."

Roarke glanced at her, but took his chair without replying to this. Instead he asked, "Was everything going smoothly, Leslie?"

She nodded. "I just called for more supplies for the bar at the pool, but we've had no major disasters. The lunch hour's brisk over at the hotel, and the restaurant's doing a good business too. I've never seen the pool so crowded."

"I think the whole island's crowded," Christian noted. "The square was choked with people. Were you aware of any major holiday somewhere that would bring so many people here like this, Mr. Roarke?"

"Nothing comes to mind," Roarke said, "and it's somewhat early for the American Thanksgiving. It appears to be mere coincidence. Has your business been affected?"

"Foot traffic's been horrendous," Christian said. "Anton and Julianne have both been in and out the entire morning, and I have no fewer than ten projects waiting for me when I get back. If this turns into a permanent trend, I may have to hire another specialist."

They talked idly for awhile through lunch, with the men partaking of Mariki's beef Stroganoff and Leslie eating her soup with some care. When they were finished and Christian was preparing to return to work, he surveyed his wife with some concern and took stock of the remaining soup in her bowl. "Don't overdo it, my Rose."

"I'm finished anyway," Leslie said and pushed the bowl away from her. "I really hate it when I get sick on a weekend. No more talk about doctors. I'm feeling perfectly okay, and as long as I'm careful, I should make it through the day just fine."

Christian regarded her, then looked at Roarke. "You'll call, of course, if she turns out to be wrong," he said questioningly.

"Of course, Christian," Roarke reassured him.

"You two," Leslie growled, and Roarke laughed. Christian grinned and arose, bending down to kiss her again.

"You know it's because we love you," he said and smoothed her hair. "Just take it as easy as you can, my darling, and I'll see you this evening before I go home, all right?"

"That sounds good to me," she said. "I love you, Christian…have a good afternoon."

"I love you too," he replied and smiled, then stole a last kiss before bidding her and Roarke goodbye and departing. Once he was gone, both Roarke and Leslie arose.

"Have you seen Mr. Mattson at all today?" Roarke asked her.

Leslie shook her head. "No," she said. "Christian told me he'd heard from a customer about the bank-robbery attempt, but I myself haven't seen a sign of the man. Wonder what he's up to now."


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- November 8, 2003

In fact, Kane Mattson had also just finished lunch at his bungalow and was trying to figure out how he might make a better success of robbing the jewelry store. He'd promised his parents and his wife and children that he'd send postcards, and he supposed this was as good an excuse as any to get two things done at once. So he changed clothes, putting on a pair of shorts and a decidedly loud faux-Hawaiian shirt that fairly screamed _American tourist_, then stepped into a pair of flip-flops and stuck his wallet in his back pocket. He then laid out the entire disguise on the bed before departing the bungalow and strolling into the town square once more. This time he took note of the building on the eastern side of the square once the Ring Road brought him into the area; it housed only two businesses, the jeweler's (ironically, standing at right angles to the bank: the getaway path he'd seen earlier would still serve as an escape route, if he could just remember to use it this time) and an old-fashioned theater complete with large marquee announcing the appearance of a popular comedian that night. At the moment the theater was closed, but he stopped on the pretext of checking the show schedule posted in the ticket-taker's window, just to try to avoid looking as if he were zeroing in on the jeweler. Kane made a face at the schedule: he didn't like this particular comedian anyway. Shrugging to himself, he wandered on, pausing in front of the display window in the jewelry shop and nodding faintly at the elegant rings, necklaces and bracelets glittering in the sunlight. Who needed cash anyway? After all, he still planned to return anything he stole to Roarke. Then he thought again: maybe he'd keep that one diamond cocktail ring he could see winking at him on the top tier of the display. His wife had always wanted one like that…

_Mattson, you jerk, what're you thinking? That's something Gage would've done in his hellion days! It's a fantasy, stupid!_ Having thus roundly chastised himself for his wayward thoughts, he sighed gently and left the jeweler's behind, crossing the square toward the post office and making certain to give the bank a good berth. He also took care to avoid the computer-service place; the guy he'd seen in the window might recognize him and get suspicious. Instead he went straight to the gift shop, found a couple of postcards, picked out a T-shirt and bought the lot; then he wrote out the cards and mailed them at the post office.

All of a sudden an idea hit him and he returned to the jeweler's. This time he went inside, glancing curiously around. A youngish native man behind the counter immediately asked, "May I help you, sir?"

Kane nodded and paused at the window display, pointing out the ring he'd seen earlier. "Okay if I take a look at that ring?" he asked. "I'm thinking I might get it as a present for my wife."

"Right away, sir," the man said, and Kane watched him pull out some keys and unlock the display before removing the ring and handing it to him. Kane pretended to examine it, nodded thoughtfully a couple times and handed it back.

"Do you have something like this set with rubies?" he asked experimentally.

To his relief, the hunch worked. "We may have something in the back, sir. Let me check for you." The salesman replaced the ring in the display, locked it, then went to the back room, leaving Kane alone out front. He took the chance to make a quick inspection of the interior and noticed that the glass cases all had standard locks in the back where only the employees here could get to them. It wasn't a big shop at all, perhaps fifteen by twenty-five feet altogether, so it probably wouldn't be too difficult to keep any other occupants subdued while he was carrying out his robbery. And it helped that, despite all the people still running around the square, there seemed to be little traffic in here. This should have a better chance of success.

The salesman returned and Kane pretended to peruse the selections he had; then he thanked the salesman on the pretext of checking his available funds and departed. He was so lost in thought that he didn't see the two native men, one stocky and the other far too thin, loitering sullenly near the ticket booth at the theater, watching him go by.

"He was casing the joint," Joey said. "Saw him through the window. I think he's gonna rob it. Should we help him out?"

"Are you kidding?" Bert demanded. "I told you the same thing when the bank got held up this morning: we're not doing some rinky-dink little heist. Give this guy a chance to do whatever he's gonna do. If he pulls it off—or even if he doesn't—either way, Roarke'll come out here with the cops, once he hears there's been a second robbery attempt, and we could make our move then. Just cool it, all right?" Joey shrugged, and they fell silent, watching people in the square.

Kane returned to his bungalow, changed clothes once more and wrestled with the mask, beard and mustache for fifteen minutes. He peered at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, wondered idly if he should have bought a hat of some sort, then shrugged. It hardly mattered; if he succeeded this time, the disappearance of the mask and nondescript clothes should be enough protection. He picked up the gun, stuffed it back into his belt as far as it would go, and left the bungalow once more, his stomach churning but his head full of determination.

Just short of the square he slowed his gait and moved as much like an old man as he could, hoping it looked reasonably authentic. Preoccupied with his mission and distracted again by the hot, sweaty mask, he once more missed Bert and Joey hanging around the ticket booth. They watched him go by, and this time moved out into the square itself to see what would happen.

Kane pushed into the jeweler's and saw that this time there was a couple inside, obviously newlyweds on their honeymoon from the way they hung all over each other and traded constant kisses and caresses. Not wanting to ruin their blissful event, he pretended to examine men's jewelry on the other side of the shop while the salesman showed the two some rings and finally managed to sell them a small emerald one. As soon as they had left, Kane crossed the store and faced the same native salesman he'd spoken with before.

"This is a holdup," he snarled, whipping out the gun and pointing it in the startled man's face. "Clean out these cases here and put it all in a bag. Now."

The salesman nodded quickly and began unlocking the nearest glass case with shaking hands. Kane watched, his stomach fairly dancing. He felt queasy, but he was in too far to retreat now. Might as well finish the job. The salesman's hands shook so much that he was having trouble fitting the key into the lock, and Kane's nervousness made him impatient to get it over with and get out. "For cryin' out loud," he barked, brandishing the gun wildly, "hurry it up!"

Then, to his shock, the gun flew out of his slippery palm and sailed toward the back of the room, crashing into a display case there and shattering the glass. Kane barely had time to even think up a good curse before whooping alarms filled the building. This time he cursed out loud and took to his heels, already seeing the cops bursting out of the police station on the western side of the square. Kane fled down the path he'd noticed earlier, as if running for his life, furious with himself.

Bert and Joey watched him go, blended back into the crowd as the local constabulary barreled into the jewelry shop. They looked at each other then; each gave one slow nod, and at leisure they ambled down the path Kane Mattson had taken moments before.

In the bungalow Kane ripped off the beard, mustache and mask, scrambled out of the T-shirt and jeans, and then wet a washcloth with cold water and mopped his face, shaking from adrenaline and anger. _Some fantasy!_ he thought disgustedly_. Blew it twice, and now I don't even know what to do! I oughta talk to Roarke again._ He dropped the washcloth, ran both hands through his hair and blew out his breath, hoping he could get by unrecognized by anyone who'd been in the square. About to head for the door, he was surprised by a sudden knock. Curious, he went to answer it, expecting Roarke; but to his surprise he found himself facing a distinctly overweight man and a rail-thin one, perhaps a bit younger, both clearly of Polynesian extraction. "Can I help you?"

"I think maybe we can help you, friend," the heavyset one remarked with a slow grin. "Mind if we come in?"

"I suppose not," Kane mumbled, stepping aside and letting the pair in. "What is it you think you can help me with?"

"First, my name's Bert," the heavy one said, "and this here's Joey."

"Kane," said Kane cautiously and shook hands.

"Now," said Bert, "we saw you tryin' to rob the jewelry store a few minutes ago…"

Kane reared back, panic coming to full life. "Hey, now, hold it a minute—"

Bert raised his hands. "Calm down, buddy, calm down," he said soothingly. "We're not here to turn you in. Matter of fact, we were thinkin' the three of us, you, me and Joey here, could form a partnership."

"What're you guys, professional cat burglars or something?" Kane asked.

"Actually, no," Joey said. "We used to work at the pineapple plantation down the other end of the island, see. It was a decent job, good pay, no questions asked. Then some morons went and set fire to the overseer's house this summer, and Roarke stepped in and had the whole place cleaned out. Jailed half the local field workers, deported all the rest of 'em, and closed down operations for a month and a half. Me and Bert lost our jobs when he did that, and the new overseer won't hire us back. Says he wants long-term, stable workers. Like Bert wasn't, and I was there two whole months!" Joey scowled.

"Anyway," said Bert with a warning glance at Joey, "we have a plan, but we need a little help. And it looks like you're tryin' to start a life of crime here…" He grinned. "…so if you want to do it right, then whyn'tcha team up with us?"

Kane stared at them. "Well, that all depends," he hedged. "What've you got in mind?"

"Kidnapping," Joey said with relish. "A good old-fashioned kidnapping."

Kane burst out laughing and scoffed, "Aw, c'mon, who the heck would be worth kidnapping around here? I don't think you'd dare kidnap Mr. Roarke. I hear he's got powers. You'd never be able to hold him."

Bert and Joey looked at each other, and Joey said as if Kane weren't there, "Are you sure this was such a good idea, Bert, bringing this guy in? Cripes, he couldn't even pull off a simple little heist. All he'll do is get in the way. We shoulda just gone in while the cops were chasin' him and Roarke was over there, like we planned."

"Have a little patience," Bert said. "Woulda been too risky goin' in after he messed up stealin' some rocks. This way, we have a chance to make a better plan." He turned back to a bewildered Kane. "Robberies are small potatoes. The real money's in kidnappin', and no, it ain't Roarke we're takin', it's his daughter."

"Right," said Joey. "We can just ask for more money—three mil—and split it so each one of us gets a third."

Kane's startled eyes bounced back and forth between Bert and Joey. "I don't know," he demurred nervously. "It'd be like, I don't know, betraying my host…"

"Oh, for crud's sake," Joey muttered.

Bert elbowed him, none too gently. "Look, pal…what's your name, Kane? It ain't gonna be all that serious. We're not killers, we just want fair compensation for losin' our jobs down at the plantation. Soon's we get the ransom, we let Roarke's daughter go and the two of us get off this island and find us someplace better. You can do whatever you want, but if I was you I'd make tracks pretty quick too. We're willin' to split the ransom with ya, fair 'n' square, everybody gets an equal share. Nobody gets hurt, and me and Joey and you all get a little richer off it. They'll never miss it."

Kane frowned. "Are you really sure? I mean, I know three million doesn't stretch as far as it used to, but it's still pretty significant money."

"That's why we decided on Leslie," Bert said smoothly. "Not only is she the daughter of Roarke, a rich man, but she's the wife of a guy who used to be a prince. Princes are rich just because they're princes. Not only that, but _this_ prince has a helluva successful computer business, and he ain't hurtin' for dough. Between him and Roarke, they oughta have no problem coughin' up the full ransom."

"Yeah," Kane mumbled, beginning to see the possibilities. Real money, for a change. Not only that, but he'd finally succeed in his objective. No one would be even hurt, much less killed. And after all, it was just a fantasy, wasn't it? He looked up and stuck out a hand at Bert. "Okay, fellas, you've got yourself an accomplice. Whaddaya want me to do?"

‡ ‡ ‡

"If you dare say 'I told you so'…" Leslie muttered at Roarke, settling herself very gingerly into one of the chairs in front of his desk. "I tell you what, I'll never forgive you if you do. Why do I always have to get sick on a weekend?"

Roarke chuckled. "You don't 'always' get sick on weekends at all, my dear Leslie, and I would never dream of saying 'I told you so'. But it seems quite plain to me that you overestimated your abilities at dinner, and now you've paid a price. I don't want you to argue with me, Leslie. I'm going to notify Christian and have him take you home with him tonight. There should be no difficulties handling things on my own, and if need be, I'll call Julie in. I simply want to be sure you don't intensify your illness. And incidentally, I think you'd do well to see Dr. Lambert—Monday if not tomorrow." He studied her for a moment, his face unreadable, then reached for the phone receiver.

Leslie sighed and watched him pick it up. She knew there was no point in saying anything; when Roarke made a decision, protesting it was a supreme waste of time and energy. In any case, her stomach was very touchy, and she was beginning to find the prospect of curling up in bed very appealing. She sat in resigned silence and wrapped her arms around her abdomen.

"Oh, I see," Roarke said after a moment or two. "How late do you expect to remain open, then?" He paused, nodded and said, "Very well…I think she will be fine for a short time, but I think it best if you come for her as soon as you can. Yes, thank you, Christian." He hung up. "I seem to recall Christian having mentioned heavy foot traffic at his office during the day, and he has just informed me that he's extended today's hours for himself and Anton and Julianne so that they can finish projects they have on hand. He will close at six and come for you then."

"Okay, I imagine I'll last that long," Leslie said wryly. "After all, everything I ate at both meals today came up all at the same time, so there's nothing left."

Roarke shook his head and smiled, but before he could speak the phone rang and he picked it up. "Yes?" A few seconds later he frowned. "Have you tried sending them to the pond restaurant?…Then did you explain that Chef Miyamoto is ill with—" His frown deepened and he looked faintly alarmed. "Why did you not say so? I'll be right there." He hung up and smiled apologetically at Leslie. "Our visiting diva has decided to register a very large complaint, and I am afraid I must see to it personally."

"Visiting diva?" echoed Leslie blankly.

"Ah, yes, you didn't know. The British actress, Katie MacDiarmid. She is visiting the island this weekend and has been…quite a trial, if I may be so bold. If you would kindly remain here and take care of any telephone calls that may come in, I would be grateful," said Roarke and arose.

Leslie shook her head wryly. "Good luck, Father." She knew about the twenty-seven-year-old star; she had been a child actress on British television before hitting the big time in an early Toni Karlsen film, and since then had grown up to be quite successful—and quite the demanding diva. "That's one actress whose autograph I don't care if I ever get." Roarke laughed softly and left; Leslie took his place in the chair, moving carefully and hoping things would stay quiet to accommodate her highly irritated stomach. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes, sitting still, hoping it wouldn't be too long before Christian could get away and take her home. She felt bad enough that she was more than ready to go. Ever so gently she rubbed her stomach, slowly and with great care.

"Uh…excuse me…Mrs. Enstad? I hope I'm not bothering you," said a diffident male voice, and Leslie opened her eyes to find Kane Mattson standing in front of the desk, peering at her with a strange look on his face.

"Oh, Mr. Mattson," Leslie said. "No, that's okay, do you need help with something?"

"Well…I'm kind of having a problem," Kane said, clearing his throat. "I, uh…" He paused and stared at her. "Are you all right? You look…well, kind of sick."

"I've been having stomach trouble all day," Leslie said dismissively. "Go ahead, tell me what the problem is, and I'll try to help."

"Why don't we, uh…go outside," Kane suggested. "I think you could stand some fresh air, and, uh…I think better when I walk."

She nodded and slowly arose, wondering idly why he seemed so nervous. "Maybe a little fresh air would be good for me, at that," she mused, leading the way out of the study and onto the veranda. It was nearly dark, and she squinted beyond the porch, trying to see into the lane and barely making out the fountain. Moving carefully toward the steps, she prodded, "So what's the trouble?"

"Let's, um…go out by the fountain here," Kane said. Leslie glanced bewilderedly back at him but acquiesced, taking each step with some hesitance and looking down at her own feet as she did so. Thus she never saw what was coming.

It happened so fast she could hardly make any sense of it. Two pairs of hands grabbed her and began wrestling her away from the steps; Leslie let out a startled shriek, and a bony hand slapped itself over her mouth. "You idiot," growled a low male voice, "you forgot the knockout juice!"

There was a curse and a snapped, "Then _you_ do it, know-it-all!" Leslie's fear momentarily drowned out her nausea. She began to struggle hard in her assailants' grip, trying desperately to break away. When the hand over her mouth disappeared, she screamed into the dusk, _"Christian!!"_

"No help there, princess," the first male voice sneered, and another hand plastered itself to her face—this one large and meaty and armed with a handkerchief that had been saturated with some very strong, sweet-smelling substance. She tried not to breathe it in, fought to twist her head away, but her captors were too strong for her. Inevitably she had to take a breath, and almost instantly her head began to swim and she lost most of her strength. With a helpless little moan she made one last feeble attempt to draw back, but the hand and its soaked cloth easily followed her. "That's it, princess, breathe nice and deep," the voice said with a chuckle, and in spite of herself she drew breath again. "Good girl. A little more and you can have a nice, long nap."

_A nap,_ Leslie thought hazily, _that sounds nice…_ She let her eyes drift shut, breathed in once more, and knew nothing else from that moment.


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- November 8, 2003

Kane Mattson winced, watching Leslie go totally limp in Joey's arms and begin to sag to the ground. "Don't let her fall, guys," he pleaded. "She said she's been sick all day."

"Well, then, now that she's out for the count, she won't have to worry about that," said Bert with enormous satisfaction. "You got the note? For cryin' out loud, don't botch that up. That's the key to this whole operation."

"Right, the note," Kane muttered, slapping various pockets. "Wait a minute, you didn't give me any note. One of you must have it."

"Joey…" Bert growled.

"Well, I can't get the damn thing with Roarke's daughter hangin' outta my arms," Joey snapped. "C'mon, help me get her in the car. You too, buddy-boy, don't just stand there like a boob. She's a deadweight." Kane scrambled across the lane to the black sedan Bert and Joey had procured from somewhere (probably stolen, he suspected) and helped the two hoist the unconscious Leslie into the back seat, stretching her out. Kane tried to make her a little more comfortable while Joey went through his pockets and came up with a crumpled slip of paper. "Hey," he barked, poking Kane's shoulder, "do your job."

Kane grunted, straightened up and cast a nervous glance back at Leslie. "Are you guys sure that stuff won't hurt her?" he persisted.

"She'll be fine," Bert said. "C'mon, leave the note and let's get outta here before Roarke gets back, willya? Otherwise we're dead in the water."

Kane plucked the note out from between Joey's fingers and took the steps to the veranda two at a time, hastening across the porch and into the study, where he left the note lying atop Roarke's closed date book, in plain sight. The phone rang just as he was smoothing out the paper and he jumped violently and cursed, then fled back outside. _It's just a fantasy, it's just a fantasy,_ he kept chanting to himself as he ran.

"You get in the back and make sure that girl doesn't bump her head on something," Bert instructed him gruffly when he rejoined them. "We're outta here."

Kane crawled into the back seat, lifting Leslie enough to make room for himself and then easing her back down across his lap with her head pillowed on his forearm. Looking at her gave him such a supreme case of the guilts that he closed his eyes for a moment, then spent the whole ride down the Ring Road staring out the window.

About twenty minutes later a car pulled into the lane and around the bend, parking in front of the quiet house. Christian got out of the driver's seat and crossed the porch, shaking his head to himself. He hadn't meant to work quite this late, but there had been so much to catch up on that he'd been forced to put in some overtime. As soon as he stepped into the inner foyer, he began, "I'm sorry, my Rose, things have really been—" He cut himself off when he realized the study was empty, and looked around in surprise. "Leslie?"

There was no reply; all he could hear was the chorus of crickets and the distant call of a night crier. Perplexed, Christian moved deeper into the room and went to the foot of the stairs, calling, "Leslie, are you up there?" Still no response. A fluttery feeling bloomed in his gut and he drifted over to the desk, where he noticed the answering machine was flashing. How long had the room been empty? Christian slipped behind the desk and then saw the paper lying atop the date book; it was a folded, creased sheet addressed to "Mr. Roarke and Prince Christian". With a frown he picked it up, opened it and read the message inside, his hazel eyes popping with shock. _"Heilige hjusande ödet,"_ he whispered, dropping into Roarke's chair in a stunned daze.

Not quite ten more minutes passed before Roarke came back. "Good evening, Christian," he greeted his son-in-law, stepping into the study, and then stopped and looked more closely at him. "Are you all right? Where is Leslie?"

"Perhaps this will answer your question," said Christian, holding out the paper.

Roarke took it. "What's this?" he asked, turning the page around and swiftly reading it. His dark eyes narrowed and his features iced over. "A ransom note!"

"Exactly so," said Christian, rising from the chair and leaning over the desk. _"Herregud,_ Mr. Roarke, who on earth would want to kidnap Leslie?"

"I'm very much afraid I don't know," Roarke murmured, rereading the note, shaking his head once or twice. He looked up then and focused on Christian. "What exactly did you find when you arrived here?"

"Nothing," said Christian with a helpless shrug. "It was deadly quiet when I came in here. I called up the stairs, but there was no response—I thought perhaps she'd gotten sick again and I had just caught her in the bathroom. But she would have at least tried to answer me when I called her, and there was nothing at all."

Roarke stared once more at the note. _"We have taken Leslie. If you want to see her alive and well, have three million dollars ready to pay by five o'clock Sunday afternoon, or we'll leave the island and take her with us, and you'll never see her again."_ He frowned and murmured, "Clearly this is the work of at least two people, judging from the 'we' and 'us' in the note. Perhaps…" He stilled suddenly and his gaze fell out of focus.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Roarke?" Christian asked anxiously.

"This may be partially my own fault," Roarke said, shaking his head again. "We have a guest here this weekend whose fantasy it was to commit the perfect crime. I had arranged for him to attempt holdups at the bank and the jeweler's, but in both cases he failed. It seems he graduated to more serious endeavors."

"The bank robbery this morning, and then the jewelry heist just after lunch?" Christian exclaimed. "You mean that was a fantasy?"

Roarke nodded. "As I said, he failed in both attempts. Apparently he found someone to help him in this scheme of his." His dark eyes glinted with fury. "And there is more danger than any of them may realize, what with Leslie ill…"

"I almost hope she gets sick on them," Christian muttered wryly, his own cold rage slowly beginning to heat up. "They'd deserve it. Mr. Roarke, I suggest we begin searching this moment, and I'll be right out there in the thick of it."

"There's little we can do at the moment," Roarke said. "They are determined to use Leslie as a bargaining chip, as the note indicates: after all, they want their money, and unless I miss my guess, they will keep her safe at least until the appointed hour tomorrow, to ensure that they receive the payment they expect. The sky has clouded over and there's no moonlight by which to work. The best thing you can do is to go home and get some sleep, Christian, so that you can be refreshed in the morning. I'm assuming, of course, that you're going to forgo work."

"Absolutely," Christian declared angrily. "Leslie is far more important to me than anything else, and I intend to be right there with the search party. Her kidnappers had better hope they don't come within arm's reach of me, or they'll regret it."

"Calm yourself, Christian," Roarke said kindly. "As I said, the only thing we can do for now is get some sleep. Try not to spend your night fretting. Leslie will be safe, and she will remain on the island. Why don't you return home, and come in the morning for breakfast. Just try to restrain yourself until at least seven o'clock."

Christian rolled his eyes, but managed a tight little smile. "I'll do my best, Mr. Roarke, but I don't anticipate getting very much sleep this night. That fantasizer…has anyone else ever taken such advantage of you?"

"Only once that I recall," Roarke said, "but I have a distinct feeling that this time the guest in question will find it very difficult, if not impossible, to see this scheme through to the end. Try to be patient; whatever else you do, keep a clear head. Losing your temper or pacing the floor all night will do nothing to help Leslie, and it can only harm you as well."

"I understand, Mr. Roarke, but as I said, I can't guarantee anything," Christian said through a deep sigh. "All right, then, I'll see you tomorrow morning."

When he left, Roarke considered the situation for a moment or two, then went down to the kitchen. To his surprise he found when he reached it that the door was closed. He knocked, and a moment later Mariki opened it. "Oh, Mr. Roarke! Can I get you anything?"

"No, no," Roarke said, "I need only to ask a question or two. Did you happen to hear anything unusual at all within the last half hour or so?"

Mariki thought for a few seconds, then shook her head. "No, I really didn't. All the girls are out with that stomach bug that Miss Leslie seems to have. I've been handling things alone in here all day. I was running the dishwasher about half an hour ago, and you know how loud that is, sir."

Roarke nodded; the appliances in this room were the most modern he could get, but they were industrial-caliber and designed to withstand frequent use. The dishwasher's noise filled the kitchen, and whenever she ran it Mariki closed the door to keep it from infiltrating the entire first floor of the house. "So you would have heard nothing, then," he said heavily.

"I'm sorry, sir," she replied. "Although I did happen to glance out the window while I was mopping, and saw a strange car pull out. It was almost totally dark by then, but I could see it was a black sedan. Or it looked black anyway."

Roarke asked, "Did you see anyone?"

"Couldn't make out anyone inside, no sir," Mariki told him. "Why?"

"We're looking for someone," said Roarke, without divulging the news of Leslie's abduction. "It's all right, Mariki, you've helped a bit. Thank you. Why don't you stop here for the night and go on home; you need not do any more here."

"All right, thank you, sir," she replied and smiled. Roarke smiled back and returned to the study, where he took his chair behind the desk and shook his head slowly. He'd never had a fantasizer turn on him quite this way; there had been the one, Frank Barton, who had actively tried to kill him, but he had known from the beginning that the man was mentally unstable and had a good idea what he could expect from him. This was something else entirely: an otherwise law-abiding and sensible man who suddenly seemed to go bad. He frowned with new anger. Leslie's safety was paramount, especially now. A sense of urgency took root within him and he picked up the phone to begin making calls.

§ § § -- November 9, 2003

Christian woke at first light and stared out the window beside the French doors to the upstairs deck, hearing rain falling and wondering if it would clear up before he left for the main house. His stomach had felt as if there were a lead boulder sitting in it ever since he'd departed for home the previous evening; he had been restless, pacing the floor despite Roarke's words, fear for Leslie and rage at her kidnappers boiling in him by turns. Christian didn't care about the ransom money; if necessary, he'd put up the entire three million himself just to be sure Leslie was back safe and sound. Nothing mattered to him as much as she did, and he was furious at being rendered powerless to help her. It tortured him that he had no idea where she was or who had her. He was surprised he'd even managed to get any sleep; but now that he was awake he knew that was it for the day for him.

He glanced at the clock; it was almost six. Swinging out of bed, he straightened the covers as best he could and smiled wryly to himself. Leslie still sometimes asked him to teach her _jordiska_; maybe he'd have to ask her to teach him to make a bed, a skill he had never learned even when living on his own, between his first two marriages. When his business had started really taking off around 1990, he'd finally had the wherewithal to hire a maid to come in for a couple of hours each day and do mundane housekeeping tasks, plus a full day on Mondays to effect a thorough housecleaning. Leslie, on the other hand, took care of most of the household chores herself when she was home. Christian winced, padding across the room to gather fresh clothes; he desperately wanted her back safe, and fought back a new rush of fear for her.

At a quarter to seven, showered, shaved, dressed and fortified with some coffee, he was on his way to the main house. For some reason he was heartened and relieved to see Roarke already at the breakfast table when he pulled up, and hope leaped in him as he came up onto the porch and went to join his father-in-law. "Any news?"

"I'm sorry, Christian, there's been nothing," Roarke replied. "But it's very early just yet. Have something to eat, and then we'll begin the search in earnest. I notified the police after you left last evening, and in just about half an hour we will start."

Christian sat down and sighed quietly. "I'm amazed I slept at all," he admitted. "I have no idea what Leslie might be going through right now."

Roarke smiled. "I doubt she's suffering very much, beyond her queasiness," he said reassuringly. "Don't forget, her kidnappers will want to keep her safe so that they have a better chance of collecting their ransom."

"Speaking of which…" Christian began.

"No, they'll get nothing," said Roarke. "They will _think_ they are. I contacted the newspaper and asked them to run off a large batch of counterfeit bills overnight on their printing press—the sort we print for the bank to foil burglars there."

Christian raised an eyebrow and grinned a little. "I see," he said. "I must admit, however, I have to wonder how they managed to subdue Leslie. They would have had to knock her out, I'm thinking."

"Yes, I believe so," Roarke agreed. "But if my hunch plays out, we'll know all we need to know before the morning is out."


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- November 9, 2003

The first thing Leslie noticed was the smell of fresh-cut wood, and her muzzy brain seized on the pleasant scent and wondered where it came from. She began to take slow, deep breaths, enjoying the smell which seemed to completely surround her, and then became aware of lying on something a little bouncy, through which she could feel hard floor. _What on earth…where am I, anyway? _ Her first clear thought made her open her eyes and lift her head, only to find herself in a half-constructed room, lying on an air mattress that hadn't been properly filled. She squinted in the early-morning sun, peered at the wooden ceiling overhead, looked around her at the exposed lumber and plywood. At the back of the room was a large open rectangle that would eventually hold a window; through this she could see rainwater dripping off trees outside, glittering in the sun that kept playing hide-and-seek in the slowly-shrinking clouds. A peacock loosed its distinctive piercing cry in the near distance. She rolled over to survey the rest of the room; there was another window hole opposite the first, and through that she noticed a dirt lane and a completed apartment building. That finally told her where she was: down near the pineapple plantation. Employee housing was being erected for the field workers, and she had somehow ended up in an unfinished unit. But how?

"Well, well, well…so the princess is awake," said an oddly familiar voice, and she turned to the side of the room where a door would soon be mounted. A heavyset native man stood there smirking down at her. "Sleep well?"

Leslie stared at him for a moment, trying to place him; she knew she'd seen him before. At that point another native, this one looking anorexic, drew up by the first one's side, and then a third man squeezed into view beside them. This one she recognized. "Mr. Mattson!?" she blurted, startled. "What're you doing here?"

"He's with us," the heavy man told her. "Come on, princess, don't tell me you don't know who I am. You've seen me before. I worked here for almost fifteen years before your father came in and robbed me of my job…so I thought I'd rob him of you." He grinned widely at his own wit, and the skinny native snickered.

Leslie's memory kicked in and she suddenly nodded. "Bert," she said softly, staring at him. "But that's…I don't get it. You always seemed like a nice guy."

"Maybe I coulda kept on bein' a nice guy if I was still workin'," Bert snarled, glaring at her. "But when I tried to get my job back, the new overseer wouldn't take either me or Joey here. Said he had his orders and nobody who was here before was comin' back. I never caused a bit of trouble around here, but I got lumped in with all the losers that burned down the old house and trashed the place. Ain't no good complainin', nobody'll listen to me. So I thought I'd make myself heard this way…with the help of some friends."

"So you're telling me you kidnapped me," Leslie said, her voice faint with realization.

"Think you're worth three mil to your pops and that prince you married?" asked Joey mockingly. "That's how much we're gettin'—a mil for each of us here."

Leslie stared at Kane Mattson, who winced slightly and looked away. "I see," she said softly. "I'm assuming you left Father and Christian a note when you…" She never finished the sentence: out of nowhere, her stomach abruptly began to churn and she slapped a hand over her mouth. Only Mattson seemed to realize what this meant, and just as she squeezed her eyes shut and began swallowing rapidly and desperately, she heard him demand urgently, "Is there a working toilet around here? I told you she's been sick."

Joey cursed, and heavy steps thudded over the plywood floor before Leslie felt herself being rudely hauled to her feet. Her eyes flew open and took in Bert's furious countenance. "Don't you dare…" he began, already hauling her over to the back window hole. He made it barely in time for Leslie to lean over the edge and endure the misery of what turned out to be more dry heaves. Joey cursed again, several times over; Bert let Leslie go and yelled, "Shut up, you idiot!"

"Well, what the hell're we gonna do with her if she's sick?" Joey yelled back.

"Look, you guys," Kane Mattson broke in then, "I have an idea. We're never gonna get the three million from Mr. Roarke and Prince Christian if we don't keep her in good health. If you two want, I'll go up to town and get her something to keep her nausea in check."

"Why the hell do ya have to go to town?" Joey demanded. "Just go to the overseer's house and ask for some aspirin or something."

"That'd look suspicious," Kane pointed out. "Weird at the very least. For one thing, I'm a total stranger and the overseer doesn't know who I am, and I could be hauled in for trespassing. And besides, who doesn't have aspirin in their medicine cabinet? He wouldn't buy it—he'd just tell me to go get my own. Anybody can endure a headache long enough to go pick up some at the local drugstore. I'll get her some meds and maybe a bottle of Coke so she can help settle her stomach."

Leslie, finally recovered, turned from the window hole and met Bert's angry, revolted stare. "I think you'd better listen to him," she said as coolly as she could through the gasping she couldn't quite control in the wake of her heaving. "You're just lucky there's nothing left in my stomach to eject, or else this place would be one unholy mess."

Bert blew out a loud breath and she shrank away from the rank odor; he noticed and gave her an annoyed look. "You go with him, Joey," he ordered. "Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid like go blabbing to Roarke and the prince. You can bring us back some breakfast while you're at it."

"I got no money," Joey said. "What'm I gonna use, pocket lint?"

"_He's_ got money, you idiot," Bert snapped impatiently. "Geez, no wonder nobody'll hire you…you're too stupid. Go with him and make sure nothing funny happens."

Joey grumbled but followed Kane out of the room, and Bert eyed Leslie with amusement. "So you been sick, have ya, princess?"

"Want to see me heave some more?" Leslie taunted. Bert snorted and towed her back to the air mattress, pushing her roughly down onto it.

"Stay there," he ordered. "You stick so much as a toenail outside this room and you're gonna regret it. I'm gonna be keepin' watch right out here." She watched him step out, move down what was to become a short hallway and ease his bulk down atop a large bucket of plaster. _Great,_ she thought, _I've got a bodyguard. Might as well make myself as comfortable as I can and try to take it easy._ She gazed out the front window hole, watching the sky rapidly clearing of last night's rain clouds, and took some comfort in the knowledge that she was still on the island. There wasn't much else she could do except wait and hope that Roarke and Christian had started a search.

Outside, Kane took the wheel of the sedan and grudgingly waited for Joey to get in beside him. He should have known Bert wasn't going to let him go alone; Joey might be dumb, but Bert certainly wasn't. "Which way do I go to get outta here?" he asked.

"Turn around in here and when you hit pavement, turn right," said Joey. "That'll be the Ring Road."

"The what?" Kane asked, already swinging the car around in a wide circle.

"It's the main road on this island," Joey said, giving him a disgusted look. "Runs along the coast in a big circle all the way around the island—that's why it's called the Ring Road. What're you, some sorta tourist?"

"Sorta," Kane muttered shortly, easing the car along the rutted dirt lane on which they had come in the previous night. "I suppose this Ring Road is the only paved one on this whole island, too."

"Pretty much," Joey said. "Not many cars around here, outside'a Roarke's cars and the ones that belong to the rich people. Probably won't be much traffic goin' back up to town, so you can put on some speed if you want. Just watch out for bikes."

"Thanks," Kane grumbled. He was relieved to reach the end of the lane and take the right turn Joey had indicated; then he applied the gas and shortly had them sailing at a good clip up the road. He almost hoped Joey was wrong and that there'd be a speed trap lying in wait for them somewhere along the way, but as he drove he realized there wasn't much chance of that. This area was apparently unpopulated for the most part, beyond some houses nestled in the trees—always on the left-hand, coastal side of the road—and they looked deserted. To their right was nothing but dense and seemingly endless jungle.

Then Joey began to squirm in his seat and Kane gave him a couple of odd looks before finally asking, "You got hemorrhoids or something?"

Joey shot him a supremely dirty look and grunted, "Smart mouth. I gotta go. Stop up here somewhere so I can, before I explode."

Momentarily annoyed, Kane suddenly saw the possibility inherent in the situation and immediately slowed the car. As soon as he came to a stop, Joey threw open the door and swung out. Deliberately Kane watched him; Joey glanced back and yelled at him, "You pervert, what's your problem?"

"So go deeper into the trees," Kane yelled back, grinning. Joey favored him with a brief glare, then winced and plowed hastily into the jungle. The moment he vanished from sight, Kane leaned across the passenger seat, yanked the car door shut and hit the gas, putting on speed as quickly as he dared. _Good, it worked!_ Kane thought giddily. He'd hoped to unnerve the silly kid enough to make him seek privacy in the trees. Now that he was rid of Joey, it would be an easy matter to start making things right.

The trip back to the main house took longer than he'd thought, and he had begun to wonder exactly how big this island was when he finally came into the outskirts of Amberville and slowed enough to accommodate pedestrian traffic. He dared not actually stop here, even to get aspirin or a Coke for Leslie. After yesterday's shenanigans he had no doubt that people would recognize him. Instead he drove straight through and continued on up the road till he came upon a dirt lane at his right. A flash of white caught his eye and on a hunch he whipped the wheel around to turn down the lane. Sure enough, as soon as he neared a bend to the left, he saw the main house.

Parking there, he jumped out and raced at top speed for the porch, thudding across it and throwing open the door. In the inner foyer he called insistently, "Mr. Roarke, are you here? Anybody?"

He got two responses: Roarke came in from the terrace out back, and Christian, with Leslie's weekend duffel bag in one hand, clattered down the stairs from the second floor. Roarke recognized Kane and his eyes grew chilly. "Mr. Mattson," he said with a nod.

"Who are you?" Christian wanted to know.

"My name's Kane Mattson," Kane explained breathlessly. "I had this fantasy—"

"Oh, then you're the one," Christian said, and his features iced over as well. "What have you done with my wife?"

Kane cleared his throat. "If you'd give me a chance to explain," he began, "I'll tell you everything. First I just want to you to know…I'm here to help. I know where Mrs. Enstad is and I want to be part of the rescue effort."

"That," Roarke observed with a calculating look at him, "would mean your fantasy was less than the success you had hoped for, wouldn't it?"

"I don't care anymore, Mr. Roarke," Kane said desperately. "Last night it seemed like the most important thing on earth to me, but now it doesn't matter. I want to make things right. This was too much for me and I, uh…I just chickened out."

"Hooray for you," Christian drawled sarcastically. "Where is my wife?"

"At the pineapple plantation," said Kane immediately. "They're putting up new apartment buildings over there and they're keeping Mrs. Enstad in one of the unfinished units. There's two other guys who cooked up this whole thing, see, and I guess they saw me trying to pull off my heists yesterday. They showed up at my bungalow and told me they used to work at the plantation till something caught fire down there and the whole place was overhauled. They both lost their jobs and they said the new overseer wouldn't hire them back, so they wanted revenge. They decided they'd get it by kidnapping Mrs. Enstad—their rationale was that she was the daughter of one rich man and the wife of another, and they figured on getting some pretty serious money out of it. I was feeling like a complete loser and they talked me into going along with it. So we worked out a plan. They stole a car from somewhere, while I was over here watching this house. When you got that call last evening and had to leave, and Mrs. Enstad was here alone, I came in pretending I needed her help with something, and got her out into the lane. Then the other guys grabbed her and knocked her out with chloroform, and we all went down to the plantation. She woke up this morning and got sick again, and I thought maybe I could get away with telling you if I offered to get her something to help calm it down. The big guy sent the skinny one with me, but he had to make a pit stop on the way and I managed to ditch him so I could come back here." He blew out a breath and raked his hands through his hair.

Roarke and Christian looked at each other, and unexpectedly Christian let out a laugh. "That was so jumbled and so quickly spoken, it can't be anything but the truth."

Roarke grinned. "I have to agree," he said. "Very well, Mr. Mattson, what do you have in mind for Leslie's rescue, then?"

"Did you say your two accomplices lost their jobs?" Christian asked Kane.

Kane nodded and said, "Yeah, they were pretty riled up about it. I was thinking, Mr. Roarke, maybe I could get them to leave Mrs. Enstad unguarded if both you and Prince Christian came with me. Well, the big one anyway, since the skinny one's stranded on the road someplace." He grinned sheepishly. "If the big guy thinks he has a chance to complain directly to you, then the prince and I could go in and get Mrs. Enstad out."

Roarke considered this. "It seems a good plan on the surface, but many of the trees along the lane have been cleared away to facilitate construction. If you were to slip in with Mr. Mattson and try to rescue Leslie, Christian, you would have no way of eluding the attention of her one abductor. Perhaps you are better off remaining here."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Roarke, but that's completely unacceptable," Christian said in an implacable voice. Roarke and Kane both heard the imperial undertone in it; Kane stared at Christian in astonishment, while Roarke smiled resignedly. "Leslie's my wife, and she hasn't been feeling well. You won't go down there without me. I want to be certain Leslie is safe and unharmed." He gave Kane a sharp glare that made the latter man back off a couple of steps. "If you or either of your friends have done anything to Leslie—anything at all—I'll see to it that you regret it bitterly."

"She's fine, Your Highness," Kane said, intimidated. "I swear it. Outside of knocking her out, nobody touched her."

"That had better be the truth," Christian warned him. He drew in a breath, twisting his mouth in consternation for a moment, then blinked and looked at Roarke. "Before we go, I'll see if Mariki has something I can give Leslie to help settle her stomach." Roarke nodded agreement, and Christian hurried down to the kitchen.

"So it appears that you have had a change of heart in regard to your fantasy, Mr. Mattson," Roarke observed, studying his guest.

Kane nodded, his face burning. "It was probably the dumbest move I've ever made. I guess there was a rebel in me trying to get out…except that when it did, it botched everything up. Should've left the rebellion to my brother Gage."

Roarke chucked and said, "Perhaps so."

"Are you going to…uh…have me arrested?" Kane asked nervously.

Roarke regarded him long enough to incite real fear in him; then he smiled slightly. "I think I'll leave that up to my daughter," he said. "Once things have been explained to her, I will suggest she make the decision, and whatever she wishes, I will abide by that."

Christian appeared in the foyer in time to hear him say this and remarked wryly, "I hope you can get her to believe you, Mr. Mattson."

Kane felt himself blanch. "Oh, damn," he mumbled.

Christian's mouth quirked in the slightest of smiles; Roarke noticed and smiled back. "Did you find something for Leslie?" he asked.

Christian hoisted a bottle of Coke in the air. "This should help," he said. "It will have gone somewhat warm by the time we get there, so it should do Leslie some good. I guess we'll have to take the stolen car if we're to avoid raising too much suspicion in that kidnapper." He chuckled. "Unless I miss my guess, that car belongs to someone in the Enclave, and to tell you the truth, it looks like Grady Harding's sedan."

Roarke sighed gently. "If so, we'll simply have to notify him. If you'll kindly lead the way, Mr. Mattson, we'll go to Leslie first."


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § -- November 9, 2003

Kane drove again; Roarke rode up front and Christian took the back seat, shaking his head as Kane pulled back out onto the Ring Road. "It _is_ Grady's car," he said. "If I dare say it, Mr. Mattson, you're getting yourself in deeper by the minute."

"I didn't steal it, the other guys did," Kane protested.

"I think we had better suspend that discussion," Roarke suggested. "Why don't you stop at the police station—I think it best to notify them so that someone is there to back us up and properly arrest the kidnappers."

"They'll recognize me," Kane said, panicking.

Christian shrugged. "Whose fault is that?" he asked.

"Please," Roarke said a little forcefully, and Kane swallowed loudly; Christian murmured an apology and settled back.

In a few minutes Kane, Roarke and Christian were being trailed by a police car with two constables inside. They were still almost ten minutes from the plantation when they saw someone in the road waving his arms. "That's Joey," said Kane. "Should I stop?"

Before anyone could answer, though, Joey apparently caught sight of the patrol car behind the sedan and leaped away, tearing into the trees. Christian watched him vanish, saw the patrol car pull over and discharge the policemen, who gave chase, and said, "Well, I think we're on our own, Mr. Roarke. The officers decided to go after this Joey person."

Roarke chuckled softly and assured him, "I believe we can handle things well enough until they catch up with us, with or without Joey."

Shortly Kane turned down the plantation access road and bumped his way along till the new apartment buildings came into view. So far there were three buildings in various stages of completion; the one on the left was finished but had yet to begin renting, while the two buildings on the right were still under construction. "Which one is Leslie in?" Christian demanded, scanning all three.

"The second building there," said Kane, "second-floor apartment on the near end." He pulled the car to a stop in front of it.

"Christian, I suggest you try to crouch down and stay out of sight for the moment," said Roarke. "If at all possible, we must find some way to distract the other kidnapper."

"I can get Bert out here," Kane offered. "He'll probably jump at the chance to have some words with you, Mr. Roarke. Then I could signal Prince Christian somehow and he could go in and get Mrs. Enstad."

"How do you intend to signal me?" Christian asked, wincing as he tried to fit his long frame across the seat and stay below window level.

"Uh…" Kane thought this over and finally said, "Well, I could fake a sneeze."

Christian laughed. "Better that than nothing," he said. "All right, I'll wait."

Kane stopped the car and got out; Roarke followed, waiting beside the car, watching Kane disappear into the unfinished building. Christian could see him looking after his guest and raised his head just enough to be able to see the second floor of the building. The one on the end, Kane had said. He stared at it, wondering if Leslie was all right.

Inside the building Bert had grown quite bored and Leslie could hear him snoring, none too gently. Then she thought she heard the sound of car tires and an engine, and bit her lip, wishing she dared get up. Her stomach was so irritable that she didn't want to move for fear of setting off the dry heaves again. _They better have something to calm this down,_ she thought disgustedly. _I'm really fed up with this._

Then footsteps entered the building on the floor below them and she heard them climbing an unfinished flight of steps. Bert's snoring stopped and she heard the man making rumbling noises; then he cleared his throat and yelled, "Who's there?"

"Just me," she heard Kane Mattson reply. "Listen, Bert…I, uh…saw Mr. Roarke in town. He came back here with me…in case you feel like complaining to him about how you can't get your job back."

"You must be as big an imbecile as Joey," Bert said incredulously. "What'd you do that for? You really think I'm gonna get anywhere? Unless, of course, he brought the ransom with him."

"I don't know about that," said Kane. "He just insisted on coming with me. Do you want to talk to him or not?"

Bert snorted. "Oh, all right. Where is he?"

"Outside," Kane told him.

"You stick with me, pal," Bert said warningly. "I'm not havin' you turnin' traitor on me outta nowhere. And hey, princess!" he added, raising his voice.

"What?" Leslie said, as irritated as her stomach.

Bert stuck his head in the door. "Don't you stick a foot outta here, you got me?"

"Do I look like I'm going anywhere?" Leslie shot back. Her stomach rolled and she curled up nearly double on the air mattress, wincing.

"Guess not," said Bert, chuckling. "All right, buddy-boy, get Roarke in here."

Leslie listened while footsteps clumped seemingly all over the building, and after a moment or two she could hear voices on the lower floor. Her stomach spasmed, and she let out a groan of agony, struggling to her feet and staggering to the front window in case she started heaving again. What she saw there nearly made her forget her illness: the back door of the sedan was open and a very familiar figure was slowly emerging, crouched in what had to be an incredibly uncomfortable position. "Christian," she breathed.

She watched avidly as Christian settled himself onto the ground behind the car door and slowly poked his head around it as if looking for something. Then he stood up and began to cross the unplanted yard, looking up as he did and instantly spying Leslie in the window. She waved at him and he lit up, jogging the rest of the way and calling softly, "How do you feel, my Rose? Are you all right?"

"Still sick, but I'm okay otherwise," she assured him. "How are you going to get me out of here? I think Father's downstairs with Bert and Mr. Mattson, but I don't know exactly where."

Christian grinned. "Just come down," he told her. "If I know Mr. Roarke, he's somehow managed to maneuver your friend into another unit so that you have a chance to come out of this one. But hurry."

"As fast as my stomach will let me," Leslie promised, and he laughed softly. She pulled back from the window, removed her shoes to keep Bert from overhearing her escape, and made her way out of the room, down the unfinished hallway and into another room from which she could make out a central hall and a flight of steps. Roarke's and Bert's voices were clearer from here, and she slipped out and started down the stairs. Halfway down she caught a glimpse of her father's white suit and hesitated just for an instant before realizing he had somehow managed to position himself so that Bert's back was to her. She padded quietly the rest of the way down and outside, hastily putting her shoes back on and emerging into the sun just in time for Christian to reach her and hug her hard.

"My darling," he murmured, clinging. "You're certain you're all right? They never hit you or anything at all?"

"Not a thing, my love," she said, nestling against him. "You have no idea how wonderful it is to see you here." She pulled back enough to look into his anxious face. "What happened to the other guy? They had a skinny native kid with them."

"That must have been the one we saw standing in the road on our way down here," said Christian, urging her along to the car with an arm firmly around her. "We stopped in town to notify the police, and they sent a patrol car along with us. When that boy saw it, he fled into the jungle, and they stopped to go after him. I rather wish they hadn't bothered. I saw the other man, and I think he's more of a threat." He gestured at the car. "Go ahead and get inside, my Rose. I brought you something to help settle your stomach." She crawled in, and he straightened up and glanced back over his shoulder, then began to turn away.

"No, Christian, don't," Leslie pleaded. "Stay here."

He looked back at her in surprise, then seemed to hear something and trained his gaze somewhere off behind the car. Leslie twisted in the seat in time to see the patrol car pulling up in a cloud of dust. There were clearly three figures inside, and she grinned with satisfaction. Christian plainly saw this as well, for he chuckled and got into the car beside her, pulling the door closed. "Seems they caught one. I have little doubt that between the two policemen and your father, the big one doesn't have a chance."

Leslie chuckled softly and twisted the top off the soda bottle. "This will be a relief," she said. "I must have been unconscious all night after they first abducted me, and they didn't have anything, not even any water. I'm dying of thirst and I've had dry heaves three times this morning." She took a careful sip and closed her eyes as she swallowed.

"All right, my darling?" he asked, sliding closer to her and wrapping his arm around her once more.

"Much better," she said and smiled at him. "I can hardly wait to find out how you and Father knew to come down here." Something occurred to her then and she looked around at the vehicle's interior, then back at Christian with wide eyes. "My God, they went and stole Grady and Maureen's car!"

"Unfortunately, yes, they did," said Christian with a wry smile. "They don't seem to have damaged it in any way. Oh, look, here they come." Sure enough, the policemen were emerging from the building with Bert in their grip; behind them came Roarke and Kane Mattson, the latter still looking nervous. Roarke spoke briefly with the policemen, then said something to Kane, who looked a little dismayed but nodded. He got back behind the wheel and Roarke took the passenger seat again, turning in it to face Leslie.

"Are you all right, child?" he asked.

"Just fine, Father," she said. "I don't seem to be any less sick, but nobody inflicted any additional damage on me. I'm so glad you brought Christian." She turned to her husband and planted a kiss on his lips, returning his broad smile. "So what happens now?"

"That depends on you," Roarke said.

Leslie stared at him. "I don't understand."

"My fate's up to you, Mrs. Enstad," said Kane miserably, eyeing her in the rearview mirror. "Mr. Roarke said whatever you decide, he'll abide by it."

"Oh," said Leslie and considered it a moment, taking another sip from the soda bottle. It was tempting to have the guy arrested, but he looked rather pale and scared, and in spite of herself she felt a little sorry for him. "Tell you what," she offered, "why don't you get us back to the main house, and tell me exactly what happened on the way there. And when we're back, I'll tell you what my decision is."

"Fair enough," Kane said and heaved a sigh. "Okay, then." He started the car, made another wide circle in the lane and followed along in the wake of the patrol car and its new dust cloud. Once they got back onto the Ring Road he started talking, and Leslie listened in silence, sipping from the bottle and occasionally patting Christian's thigh whenever he gave her a gentle squeeze around the shoulders.

At the main house Kane parked beside the fountain and slumped in his seat, having talked himself out. Christian and Leslie looked at each other, and Roarke glanced around at the three of them. "Why don't we go inside," he suggested.

Once in the study, Kane shoved his hands into his pockets and regarded Leslie with a sort of resigned look. "I couldn't blame you if you wanted me arrested along with Bert and Joey," he told her. "I really messed up."

"Yeah, you did," Leslie agreed, "and unless I miss my guess, you've probably got an enemy for life in my husband now." She tossed Christian a teasing look, and he shrugged unapologetically, making her laugh a little. "But listen…you were instrumental in my getting rescued, and in the end you did the right thing. If Father's agreeable, I'd settle for you just going on home tomorrow morning like normal, and forgetting about the idea of being like your little brother and raising a load of hell. Crime really doesn't pay, unless you happen to be a crooked politician."

Kane grinned sheepishly. "Believe me, I've learned the hard way. Or maybe not so hard. After all, if I'd tried to do this in real life, I wouldn't've got off nearly this easy. I know it sounds absurd, but thanks for the chance, Mr. Roarke. If you'll let me come back, I'll bring my wife and kids next time for a vacation, and you have my solemn promise that I'll observe the absolute letter of every law on this island."

"Good, Mr. Mattson, good," Roarke said warmly, "and in that case you and your family will be welcome to visit."

"Oh, one other thing," said Leslie. "That car we were using was stolen from friends of ours. I think you owe them a tank of gas."

Kane burst out laughing, broke out his wallet and handed Leslie a twenty-dollar bill. "I hope that covers it," he said and shook hands with her and then Roarke. "Thanks again, both of you. Think I'll just take a breather at my bungalow and stick to watching reruns of _Adam-12_ and _Dragnet."_ They all laughed, and Kane departed the house.

Christian, still chuckling, pulled Leslie in for another kiss. "You, my wayward Rose, are still coming home with me," he told her. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid you'll have to try to control your illness a little longer, because one of us will have to drive Grady and Maureen's car back to them. Do you think you can do that?"

"But I'm feeling better now," Leslie protested. "Since you gave me this, my stomach's settled down a lot."

"No more arguments, Leslie Enstad!" Christian said firmly, laying a finger over her lips. "Just once, please, listen to me. I have no doubt Mr. Roarke is in complete agreement with me on this. We are going home and you're going to stay by the bathroom, and in the meantime I'm calling Dr. Lambert and insisting that she see you tomorrow. You've been more ill than I was when I had the same stomach problem, and I don't want this going on any longer than it has to. Do you hear me?"

Leslie gave him a wry look through her bangs and replied, "Yes, Your Highness." He rolled his eyes, and both she and Roarke broke into laughter.


	7. Chapter 7

§ § § -- November 10, 2003

"You're _kidding_ me," Leslie breathed at Dr. Lambert, eyes huge. She simply couldn't recall the last time she'd been so shocked. "It can't be…"

"It can," Dr. Lambert said and patted her shoulder. "It'll take a while to sink in, I know. I also know Prince Christian's out there waiting for you. Why don't you go on ahead and tell him? Then you can share it."

Leslie nodded, dazed, and slowly got to her feet, her hand going to her mouth. She almost felt her way out of Dr. Lambert's office, drifting down the hallway to the waiting room where Christian had remained, feeling like someone else altogether. She had the most inane feeling of dreaming and anticipated waking up any moment now…

Christian turned around when he heard her steps and came to her instantly at sight of her. "Tell me, right this second," he commanded urgently. "What is it?"

Leslie stared up at him, her hand falling from her mouth finally, taking in his anxious face and suddenly falling more in love with him than ever. "Christian, I…" That sense of disbelief and lightheadedness assaulted her again and she met his gaze. "I'm pregnant!"

Christian froze and his eyes slowly widened. His mouth fell open a little and his grip on her arms tightened. "Pregnant," he whispered.

Leslie nodded. "Yes," she said, feeling her eyes sting with impending tears. "I thought she was joking. But she told me to come tell you. Oh Christian…we're finally going to be parents. I'm really pregnant!"

Joy and wonder spread across his face and he suddenly laughed out loud, then hugged her hard, rocking her back and forth. "My Rose, my precious Rose," he exclaimed softly, sounding as dazed as she felt. "It's a miracle. I can hardly believe it…"

"I know, neither can I," she breathed, tears spilling over.

"It's a gift," Christian murmured shakily, drawing back and cradling her face in his hands. _"You're_ a gift. You, my Rose, you and this baby we'll be welcoming into our lives, you are both the greatest gifts I've ever received. I love you so very much, and I already love our baby. I can't tell you how ecstatic I am." He kissed her deeply, for a long sweet moment, and when he pulled back there were tears in his eyes as well.

They stared at each other wonderingly, and then Leslie said, "We've got to tell Father. Hurry, let's go…I can't wait to see his face." Christian grinned, and they linked hands and half ran out of the hospital to go to the main house.

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**A/N:** _How's_ that _for a surprise? But as always, there is more in store. Next: a trip to Lilla Jordsö that has an unexpected ending for more than one person…_


End file.
